The Reaper
by Dr. Blind
Summary: "Death followed me through the years. I always felt him on my heels, watching my every move. Waiting. Death was always waiting." Magnus is unwilling to die, until the night he meets Death himself. Malec.


**THE REAPER**

_Indonesia, 1217_

My father was a cruel man. He was filled with so much hate that I'm certain he never knew happiness. I suppose my mother wasn't much better. Her apathy the night it all happened was as just as much to blame as the hand that tossed the oil at my feet and struck the match that set it all ablaze. Back in those days, being a warlock was akin to being the devil. Even though I'd never hurt a soul, I was doomed to parish ever since I opened my poor green cat's eyes.

Beaten and bloodstained, they tied me to a stake, hands over my head. I tried screaming my innocence to the heavens. So what if I could do a few tricks with my mind? Turning a jug of water into a basket of grapes, in my humble opinion, was not worthy of being set on fire in the center of the village. The flames grew higher, licking up my legs. My screams of innocence turned to terror, and then to rage.

"You'll suffer for your injustice!" I shrieked. "All of you will burn for what you've done to me!"

I spat at the crowd. It landed on my father's face. He wiped it off and urged the fire along faster.

The night before, all had been normal. We'd eaten the same meal in the same stiff silence. My mother had avoided looking at me. My father had done nothing but look at me. My dinner was considerably smaller than theirs, but the fact that they fed me at all was baffling. And then, even though it was still light out and there was work to be done, my father had sent me to the barn I slept in. I'd laid in the silence, staring up at the gaps in the slatted ceiling, using my powers to turn a piece of straw into a flower. The door had been suddenly thrown open. Our chickens and sheep went mad as the strongest men in town barged in and held me down. They'd wrapped me tight in rope, to the point where I could barely breathe.

I'd tried to free myself. It hadn't worked.

My father had been the one to lay the charge of witchcraft on me. He'd been the one to tie the final knot that held me to the stake and set the blaze with cold, dead eyes. He was the one I was staring at when something flitted through the periphery of my vision. Through the smoke and the ash, I spotted a sleek white cat dart through the crowd. It slid through the tangle of legs, straight into the arms of a hooded figure. I gasped, taking a harsh lungful of soot. The hooded creature straightened up. Its face was shadow, its hands deathly pale as it stroked the cat between the ears.

Death had come for me.

Immortality or no, it was my time to die at the age of seventeen, strapped to a post, and at the hands of my own father. I shouldn't have been able to see Death. Of that I've always been certain. The mere glimpse of him terrified me so much that I was able to pull all of my power together. With one sure blast, I broke loose of the stake. The crowd roared in outrage and made a grab for me as one, like a tidal wave of human hatred. My legs were burnt so terribly that I could hardly stand. And yet somehow, with the thought of getting away from that hooded figure, I was able to run to the safety of the Forbidden Woods. The people of my village were held back by the same outrageous fear and superstition that had nearly cost me my life. I ran for an hour straight before my legs gave out and I found water to put them in.

That night, the shadows watched me. They waited for me to sleep to claim my life. I refused to go.

I still refuse to go.

_New York City, 2011_

Death followed me through the years. I always felt him on my heels, watching my every move. He was waiting for me to slip up so he could take me. Sometimes I would spot his cat, peering at me out of a dark alleyway or sitting on a bench, licking its paw. Waiting. Death was always waiting. The times when I saw his cat were frightening, but nothing compared to when I saw him.

Never did I see his face, but I always knew when it was him. The suspiciously still Romanian monk on the road to seventeenth century Bucharest - the man in the dark suit at the other end of the train car in Victorian England, a newspaper in front of his face - the bizarrely dressed World War II solider I passed in the streets of Paris as I made my escape, staring at me from behind a thickly tinted gas mask - all Death, so close, ever watching.

"Your parties are fucking _awesome_," some blood drunk vampire slurred at me, hanging off his date like she was a floatation device.

I smiled at him, trying to look genuine, and patted his hand. "I know."

He hooted and swung off into the undulating mass of Downworlder's dancing in the middle of my living room. I threw the party in an attempt to make myself feel better. The loneliness of eight hundred years was starting to show. I could hardly sleep without thinking of all of the people I had loved and lost. Even in the community of immortals, it seemed like nothing was constant. Eternity is nice in theory, not so much in practice.

"Magnus," breathed my date. He was a fae, two hundred years young, and boring in the way that only those without emotion can achieve. "Why aren't you dancing? I thought you liked to dance."

I sighed, heart heavy. "I just... don't feel like it."

I guess I knew what was happening. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew that I couldn't run from Death any longer. I was seeing him everywhere - in crowds, on TV, in my own reflection. Sometimes I would dream about him. Those were the worst. I would be running through the Forbidden Woods, my legs torn up to shreds, and I would come to a meadow. Death would be there in his robe, taller than life with his cat snaking in and out of his legs, holding out his hand for me. Every time I would wake up, drenched in sweat and near tears. I was afraid. I wasn't ready.

"Would you be happier if I brought you a drink?" my date asked.

I shook my head. "I have to go to the bathroom. Be back in a minute."

I pushed through the crowd, feeling less and less like myself. The people in the room exuded vitality - even the vampires, with their pale skin and still hearts, were more lively than myself. It all seemed so... pointless. I pounded on the door to my bathroom, but someone was moaning like a banshee in there, so I decided to go sit in my room and sulk instead. Downworlder's smiled at me as I passed them, all crowded in my hallway, kissing and groping and enjoying themselves.

I tapped on my doorknob and the lock sprung open. The technicolor vomit of the rest of my apartment was lost in my room. Everything was softened by the moonlight. My curtains were blowing gently with the early autumn breeze, though I didn't remember opening my window. I shut the door, blinking against the dark, and flicked on the light. It buzzed and hummed, coming to half light, and then died.

There was someone sitting on my bed.

My heart hammered to a near stop and I flattened my back against the door. Death was sitting there, facing the moonlight. He wore a leather jacket over a hoodie, which was pulled up over his head. Sitting beside him was a cat - his cat. Ice filled my veins. All I could think was "This is going to hurt. I'm going to suffer for running so long." The music and the people outside my door seemed a million miles away.

"Magnus," Death said slowly, like he was tasting my name. I expected it to sound like wind rattling through tree branches. His voice was sweet, like honey, with a hint of humour. "I think it's about time we had a talk."

And then he turned to me.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe an old man with papery skin, or a disembodied skull with sunken pits for eyes. Death pulled back his hood, his black hair looking perfectly untidy in the moonlight. He had young, porcelain skin. It was whiter than bone, clear and smooth. Lips like cherries and pearly white teeth. His eyes were blue with a hint of green, swirling like a lightly clouded sky on a windy day. Nothing about him was frightening. He was gorgeous - heavenly.

"I'm not ready," I said, shaking my head firmly. "Please - not yet."

He held up his hands, palms out. "I won't take you, Magnus. Not if you don't want to go. It's why I've come to talk to you."

It was hard to stay terrified in the face of his reason. He was so beautiful and his eyes were so kind. I crossed the room slowly, unsure, and sat down on the bed beside him. That feeling that had come over me every time I felt him near was gone. The panic was washed away at finally seeing all of him. His hands were the same, ghostly white and long fingered, but they seemed less frightening when paired with a face. He took my hand in his.

I jumped and tried to pull it away. Death gave me a small, careful grin. "It's okay, Magnus. You have nothing to fear."

I snorted, trying to ignore how warm and soft his hand was. It was the same hand I had feared for centuries. "Don't fear the Reaper. I've always found that saying to be man's most ridiculously naive idiom."

"Why do you say that?"

"They've never seen the Reaper."

Death gave me a funny look, halfway between amused and insulted. "Am I really that ugly?"

"Definitely not," I answered quickly, more because I didn't want to make him angry than because it was true. "Being followed for years by a faceless man in black, though..."

He shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out."

"You freaked me out thoroughly."

Death lifted his other hand and brushed a few fallen spikes away from my face. "Is that why you're running from me? Because I scare you?"

His cat rubbed itself against my leather pants, purring so loud that I felt the vibrations in my knee. I fought the urge to bend down and pet it. My own cat, Chairman Meow, was probably somewhere outside, eating garbage or peeing on a homeless person. Would I ever get to see him again? "I'm not ready yet," I said softly. "I can't leave..."

"Eight-hundred years is a long time. If that's not enough, what will be?" He didn't sound angry, but his words were solid. Irrefutable. "Are you afraid of judgement? Because I can ease your mind on that one if you want."

I looked at our hands, twined together and resting on the bed. "I'm afraid... of leaving this all behind."

Death simply said, "Everyone has to."

We were silent. I let go of his hand, my stomach a block of ice. A tear ran down my face and my bottom lip began to quiver. "I don't want to go alone," I finally admitted. And once I said that, the waterworks started. I couldn't hold back eight hundred years of isolation - of feeling completely alone in a crowded room. "How can I leave when I haven't fallen in love yet? Eight hundred years I've waited to find someone to die with. And nothing! I'm not ready, Death. I can't go alone."

He put his arm around me and I grabbed onto his shirt. He smelled like sun on fresh grass and lemonade. His embrace was warm and strong. "My name isn't Death," he murmured into my hair. "It's Alexander."

Alexander.

I looked up at him, rubbing my eyes with my palm. "Ten years. Give me ten years to find love. If I don't, I'll go with you."

Alexander swallowed thickly. I watched his Adam's apple bob. He shook his head, slowly at first, and then with conviction. My heart turned to stone and I started to struggle in his grip. He pulled me to him and for a moment I thought it was the end. His hand cupped my face and his lips touched mine, soft. They met again with a little more force, and then a third time. He leaned me back, sliding his hand into my hair. I let my eyes flutter open and then closed them again, wrapping my arms around him. He was an incredible kisser. My heart thudded in almost perfect time with his.

I pushed his leather jacket off. His hoodie went along with it, leaving him in a black v-neck and torn jeans. He crawled forward and I scooted back on the bed, my mouth open in awe at him. He kissed the hollow beneath my ear. "You won't be alone," he said. "I'll be with you. I've always been with you."

"Alexander," I murmured when his hand slid under my skintight shirt.

He kissed up and down my throat, guided by my hands in his hair. "It's Alec," he said. "Call me Alec."

Our lips were together again. He pushed my mouth open with his and let his tongue in. I felt it trace the backs of my teeth as he grazed my ass with his hand, squeezing it a bit. I groaned and nearly melted against him. Alec pulled back, those unearthly eyes of his swirling dark blue, like the sky before a storm. He bit his bottom lip and began pulling my shirt off. I sat up and let him, but before he could dive back into kissing me I made him get rid of his too. His cheeks went a bit red and he looked down at my comforter.

"The Grim Reaper is self conscious?" I snickered.

Alec gave me a dubious look. "I prefer the term Angel of Death."

Angel of Death. In the end, he was the end. Those two big, scary words that had sent my heart a-stuttering for so many years. I sucked in a breath and tried to sit up. Alec caught my shoulder. "I can't - "

"Magnus, stop. I'm not going to kill you, okay?" Alec sat back, looking deliciously mused. The part of me that wasn't scared shitless at the thought of him wanted to jump his bones a thousand times over. Alec lifted his hand and waved his fingers. A piece of yarn appeared out of no where. I watched as it snaked its way through the air, worn and faded. "This is your Lifestring." Alec reached out and stroked it. My whole body shuddered. "It's eight hundred years old, Magnus. It's tired. It's been tired for longer than you want to admit. I haven't cut it yet because you don't want it cut."

"Why do you care about what I want?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the yarn floating in between us.

He flicked his wrist and it evaporated with a spark. "Eight hundred years, wandering this earth in your wake, and you can't even come to the conclusion that maybe - just maybe - I want more from you than your settling blood."

I cringed and fought back another onslaught of tears. "Well, then what do you want?"

"For you to be happy. For you not to have to feel fear, or sadness, or persecution." Alec slides his thumb over my cheek, his eyelashes casting shadows on his snowy skin. "For you to be mine in the next life. I've always been here - I always want to be here."

Death - my constant. Others came and went, but he was with me always. My shadow - my Alec. It wasn't until that moment that I realized the true extent of his following. This warm feeling of being so close to him, like being in the presence of the sun embodied, had been with me far more often than the fear and the coldness.

I launched myself at him; wrapped my arms around him and kissed him, hard and wet and hot. Alec held me, his skin incredibly warm. I rocked my hips into his and he moaned in a way that was almost fragile. He grabbed my ass again, pulling me closer. I continued rocking against him, kissing every inch of skin he exposed to me in the hopes that my body could show him how much I loved him in the way my mind couldn't.

Alec pushed me back down onto the bed and began kissing down my chest. I was shaking at his touch. The way he rubbed his thumbs against my hips and how his eyelashes brushed against the sensitive skin of my lower stomach - it was enough to drive me insane. Alec dragged his bottom lip back up my chest. He licked one of my nipples as he unhooked my pants, which was a Herculean task in its own right. He kissed his way back down, sliding my pants down as he went. He landed a sweet kiss on the band of my underwear before pulling them down as well. It was a relief to be rid of them, honestly. Alec crawled back on top of me. I hooked my thumbs in the loops of his jeans. He grinned down at me, looking every bit the angel that he was.

"I've never really done this," he admitted.

My eyebrows flew up. "Seriously?"

He nodded, doe eyed and innocent. "I've thought about it a lot, though."

"Is it common for angels to have sex?"

Alec bit his lip and shook his head. "I think I can make an exception," he said, lightly grinding against me. My eyes rolled back in my head. I needed his jeans off. He watched me undo his fly and pushed himself up so I could pull them down. His boxers were purple, which amazed me because it seemed like everything Alec wore was black.

Thinking back over the years at all the times I'd seen Alec didn't make my heart seize up anymore. I wanted to reach back in time and cross that train to talk to him. I wanted to pull that gas mask off of his face and tear off those monk robes. I wanted to take that tattered cloak from the night of my burning and pull back the hood so I could see, over the centuries, that Death was nothing more than a beautiful angel, waiting for me to choose my own expiry date. Walking with me and warming me when I was sad or hurt, bathing me in that inexplicable warmth that said, "Everything is going to be alright."

He kissed me feverishly as I guided him backwards and helped him shimmy out of his boxers. I immediately cupped him and he moaned, tossing his head to the side. "Magnus," he near whimpered when I began stroking my hand up and down his length.

From that angle I could see a ring in the cartilage of his ear. He didn't seem to understand how gorgeous he was and it made him all the better. His hand wrapped around me and he stroked me, his fingers as light as feathers. My knees turned to jelly and I crumpled on top of him. Skin to skin, I felt Alec shiver. He suddenly caged me in his arms and rolled so I was beneath him. I watched with hungry eyes as he made his descent for the third time, taking my cock in his hand once again and lowering his mouth onto it. He ducked his head a couple of times, getting me fairly wet all the while making me bite my lip and groan heavily.

And then he left me with an audible pop. He slid over my body and our mouths connected again.

It was a bit like we both knew the outline of what was going to happen. I ran my hands all over his firmly muscled chest and ground our hips together, causing his breath to thicken into a pant. We rolled again and I positioned myself over him, our eyes connecting so that he could silently tell me it was okay. Slowly, I pushed myself in. Alec flattened his palms against my chest, eyes wide and brow knitted.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He was so tight and hot, I didn't know how long I could hold out. I needed more of him.

Alec nodded, taking a hissing breath. "I'm fine. Go. Please."

I did, getting almost all the way in before he moaned, a mixture of pleasure and pain, and I had to stop again. He licked his bottom lip and chewed the corner of it. When he was ready, he inclined his head and I finally was able to slide home. Alec whispered something in a language I didn't understand and then fluttered his eyes closed. We were both still, and for the first time in the better part of an hour I remembered the party going on outside my bedroom.

Who was going to tell them to go home?

There wasn't much time to think about it. Alec hitched his knee up higher and forced our mouths together again. I was happy to forget, to be lost in him. Hot, heavy breaths were stolen in the bare moments our lips spent apart. Alec couldn't figure out where he wanted to grab. My ass, or my shoulders, or my hair, or my hips or my face.

My thrusts started out small, slow, and even. Our skin slid against each others. Alec was soft, warm, and white in an unearthly way. I couldn't stop myself from staring at how gorgeous he was; like my own personal Abercrombie model, only so much better. He made soft, low noises at the back of his throat in response to me, every once in a while broken with my name.

I had been with plenty of people, spanning from screaming sex freaks to frozen, wide-eyed statues who made absolutely no noise while I tried to get my freak on. None of them seemed to have the formula quite as right as Alec. He was responsive, but not overeager. He didn't shriek his head off, or whine, or make awkward animal grunting noises. Present in the moment without trying to force me to remember him. The way he held onto me, it was like he knew I would remember him; it was like it wasn't the first time.

"Alec," I huffed, picking up my pace. "Alec, ah..." He watched as my breathing went out of time and my whole body rolled with a wave of intense pleasure. I forced my orgasm back and buried my head in his throat, gripping his thighs tighter.

He rolled into me, meeting my thrusts with just as much force as I was putting into him. My whole body felt like liquid. Sweat poured in rivulets and the frame of my bed creaked and groaned along with me. Alec became more vocal, forming half words and harsh, crackling moans that set my skin on fire.

My knees started to falter and I had to stop for a moment, if only to catch my breath. Alec took the opportunity to breathe in the cold air whipping through my curtains. The music from my party echoed out into the night and back in my window. Set Fire to the Rain by Adele blared in my ears as we continued making love. Alec gasped and groaned and pulled my hair. I licked the salt from his throat, palming his cock gently as my climax threatened to overtake me.

"I can't - I'm going to cum - Alec - " Normally I would have just let go and rode out the thoughtless bliss of my orgasm, but I didn't want that with him. I didn't want it to end - and I wanted to make sure he felt it just as much as I did.

He forced me to look into his eyes, swooping in for a quick kiss on my bottom lip. "It's okay."

I kissed him, open mouthed, full of breath and heat, and then I pulled back. My thrusting was erratic, harder than it should have been and without any real pace. I arched my back inwards as I came, nose to nose with Alec, murmuring his name over and over again. "Ah-Alec, AlecAlecAlec, Ah-Ah-Alec, Alec..."

My whole body was flame, flickering and burning. I felt everything leave me. All the energy and the strength flitted away as I orgasmed. When it was over, I put my forehead to Alec's and took a long, hard gasp. He kissed my face, cradling my head and musing my hair. When I didn't feel like fainting anymore, I ran my hand up and down his length. The move was obviously unexpected. Alec groaned and arched his back, pushing his erection into me. His face flooded and I smiled down at him.

"Magnus," he started.

I silenced him with a kiss and pulled out. Alec watched with heavily lidded eyes and I roamed down his body, holding him possessively by his hips. I put my lips to his tip and flicked my tongue out, catching his precum. His whole body shivered. Slowly, I lowered myself down until I had taken all of him. It was no easy task, but I had centuries of practice. Alec gripped my sheets, his eyes still fixed on my face. I slid back up, running my hands down his ribs, over his hips, to his thighs, and back again. He made a high pitched noise, like a wounded dog. The whole room pounded with the bass of _Find Your Love_ by Drake. Alec writhed on the bed as I bobbed almost in time to it, taking a hand to massage the base of his cock. He whispered my name hoarsely when I pulled off of him, using my hand to stroke him, fast and light alternating with hard and slow. I kissed his sharp hip bones, letting my free hand roam over his ass. He felt me push my fingers against him and jerked his hips up to allow me back into that tight, hot core of muscles.

I searched quickly and found his sweet spot. Alec screamed silently and then bit his lip, eyes rolling. My name was his mantra, sweet music to my ears. "Magnus, Magnus please," he gasped. "Oh, oh, please..."

My mouth was back, but my hands kept up their work. Alec thrust against me as his release inched closer. He grabbed on to my headboard, his fingers tearing clear through the thick mahogany. His mouth moved silently, forming words in languages I didn't understand. I watched as his body moved like a wave in slow motion, stretching up into the air, arching gorgeously as he came. His toes curled, his eyes rolled back into his head, and a series of short moans slid out from deep in his throat.

And then, at the height of his orgasm, two words - "Oh _God_."

Thick cum hit the back of my own throat. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. Sweet and hot and musky. A general rule in my books was that nothing that came out of the mortal body was pleasant - Alec obviously wasn't mortal. He was an angel and tasted like one. I cleaned him up, listening to him keen and gasp as I did so, and then I crawled back on top of him. For a moment I hovered there, kissing lightly. He must have tasted himself on me because he made a strange face and blushed. I smiled down at him, kissing his nose before I fell to his side and wrapped my arms around his torso.

Sleep ran over me and I closed my eyes to the sight of Alec, mused and sweaty, gazing down at my face with the kind of look on his face you see on very old, very experienced people staring at their spouse.

_Morning_

My dream that night was simple. I was having a picnic with Alec in a beautiful garden.

When I woke up, I thought I was still in the garden. The air smelled like flowers. Not in the overpowering way. It was light, gentle, and sweet. I sat up, feeling rumpled and well rested. The walls in my room looked brighter than normal. Everything looked brighter than normal. There were two cats sitting at the end of my bed, one fluffy and spotted, the other giant and fully white. They were rolling around with each other, making little cat noises. I raised my eyebrow at them and turned to face the bright sun streaming through my window.

Alec sat there, fully clothed, in front of a soft white light. He was all lips and eyes against it, his skin paler than snow. I looked down and saw that I was in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms - my secret shame was my love of comfy night wear.

"It's time," he said, voice low.

I nodded, swallowing back the fear. I took his hand and squeezed it tight. "In a sec. Just let me... say goodbye." Chairman Meow thumped onto the floor beside the bed and then vaulted himself back on. "Can I bring my cat?"

Alec laughed. "I'm not one to deny a man his cat. Right Church?" His cat came slinking over and rubbed himself against Alec's knee.

I stared at his cat, ignoring my own as he made my foot his pillow. "In Indonesia, cat's are heralds of death."

Church flicked his ear and stared back at me, like he understood what I was saying. He probably did. "They're good helpers," Alec admitted.

I didn't reply to that. Instead, I picked up Chairman Meow and held onto him tight, not feeling even a little bit guilty for dragging my kitty to the other side with me. And then finally, I looked back at the light.

"_I think over again my small adventures._  
><em>My fears,<em>  
><em>Those small ones that seemed so big,<em>  
><em>For all the vital things<em>  
><em>I had to get and reach.<em>  
><em>And yet there is only one great thing,<em>  
><em>The only thing,<em>  
><em>To live to see the great day that dawns<em>  
><em>And the light that fills the world.<em>"

"An Inuit prayer," Alec noted with sadness in his eyes.

"For facing adversity," I said with a sigh, pulling back my blankets. "I'm ready to see the great dawn."

Alec stood up with me. He held my hand tight. I saw all of the years of my life fly by within an instant. Really, in the grand scheme of things, I was but a second. Eight hundred years is an eternity and yet no time at all. Had I gone with Alec willingly all those years ago, it would have meant little more than running from him for eight centuries. He leaned over and kissed me, sweetly. Those eight hundred years were a sign of his love, and that was all that mattered.

Distantly I realize that no one turned off the music from the party the night before. An acoustic rendition of _Hysteric_ by The Yeah Yeah Yeahs rang through my apartment and into the morning air, accompanied with the sound of someone pounding on my door. The police, maybe, concerned with the music. When they finally burst in, they found a mess, a stereo and a locked door. Behind that, a nineteen year old kid and his cat, laying peacefully dead in the early morning light.

Because with Alec by my side, I took my last breath and stepped over to the other side.

And God, was it beautiful.

**The End**


End file.
